


Her Loving Friend

by Nabielka



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9557354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/pseuds/Nabielka
Summary: They liked each other at once.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ephemeralblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralblossom/gifts).



Lasaraleen had said that the barbarian queen from Narnia was not so very pretty after all, that the rumours were not true, or at the least, had been greatly exaggerated. 

But then Las had never had eyes for women at all, had spoken only of the good-looking men in the Narnian delegation. Even so, for her part, Aravis could not see how the absent Queen Susan, whatever Shasta had said of her looks – for what could he, brought up as a poor fisherman’s boy, possibly know of the beauty of women – could in any way surpass the beauty of her sister. 

For the sight of her was a delight to the eyes. Aravis could not chase the image from her mind of looking up, and seeing Queen Lucy there in mail. She had taken off her armour, so that it took Aravis a moment to realise that here was the figure she had seen in the Hermit’s pool. 

The Queen had fought so well as to win even the Hermit’s approbation, he, who must indeed have seen many a battle in many lands as closely as Aravis could have seen her own reflection in Lasaraleen’s many looking-glasses. Besides, she herself had seen her brother (on whom be the peace of the gods) train and had seen battle manoeuvres in Calavar under her father’s watch too, and to watch the Queen fight was to become acutely aware with a feeling she could not identify of how much the fighter’s skill outdrew her own, noted among the Tarkheenas of her age. 

She was even more striking up close, as she came up to be introduced by the King. Her hair, cut short as Aravis had never seen a woman’s, framed her face, from which warmth radiated. 

She was difficult to look away from. She was talking of apartments. “You’d like to come and see them, wouldn’t you?” As was the habit of royalty, she did not appear to care to wait for a reply. But she stepped close to Aravis all the same, laid a hand on her arm, and leaned in to kiss her. 

For a moment, Aravis, surprised, could do nothing. In Calormen the Tarkheenas rubbed balm into their lips, but Queen Lucy’s lips were chapped from the wind. The warmth of her hand burned through her sleeve. 

It was a kiss of greeting, a short brush of lips on lips. Still, Aravis felt her face burn. She longed to think of something to say, and in Calormen she might have managed, but here, when she felt herself weigh every word, her throat closed up. She wondered how Lucy would react if she leaned in again, what the others might say. 

But for her part, Queen Lucy did not appear to think anything amiss, did not seem to mind that Aravis had not responded, in kind or otherwise. She merely took Aravis’ arm, and talking now of Anvard, shepherded her along to the castle. They were soon talking together quite merrily, and Aravis, who was an accomplished horsewoman, was thrilled to learn that Queen Lucy too loved to ride. Her discomfort gone, she was telling Lucy of racing her brother as a child, finishing with a rueful smile, “But of course I was too young to know he was really just letting me win, and I felt terribly proud of myself.”

But then she happened to look down, and felt the words dry in her mouth. For she had not noticed before just how muscled Lucy’s arm was, and, as she let her gaze run her over, how broad her shoulders. She told herself it was not unexpected, for swords were heavy and to swing one for the long hours that a battle might take took great strength indeed, but still the sight stole her breath. Were they to fight, the Queen would pin her to the ground with ease, and hold her there. 

She thought of seeing her unclothed, resting like a Tarkheena in Calormene baths, and felt heat suffuse her at the thought of reaching out and touching her, running her hand over the muscle, trying to curl it around the bicep. The hair on her head was fairer than anyone’s Aravis had ever seen in Calormen, except for Shasta’s, who didn’t exactly count. She wondered how the hair on her skin compared, on her legs, which had to be very well-formed too, and between them. Undoubtedly, it too would be pleasing, for the Queen was so pretty in her armour and in her mail that Aravis could not imagine that she could be any less beautiful without them, wet and flushed from the steam. 

“Your Majesty,” she said, for that was how she had heard others address these Northern monarchs. The address was different in Calormen, but then many things were different in Calormen. There Queen Lucy could not have ridden to war, not since Aravis’ ancestor Ardeeb Tisroc had put an end to civil strife and to the life of his treacherous daughter, whose very name had been stripped from the chronicles, her memory accursed. Had she been kissed by a ruler, it would have been by the Tisroc himself (may he live for ever), and that, Aravis decided, remembering the palace, would have been decidedly less pleasant, and a fate much like marrying Ahoshta Tarkhaan. 

“Oh,” said the Queen, “you must call me Lucy. We shall be friends, I think.” 

Her teeth were a little uneven, her smile infectious. Aravis felt her heart skip a beat. 

“I hope so,” she said, and admitted in her heart of hearts that indeed, she hoped for more. Lucy still had not let her go, and she stood so close that Aravis could see the spatter of freckles across her cheekbones, the slight shift in her complexion where the sun had stained her face unevenly. 

Lasaraleen might have had critical words to say about that, and perhaps more still about the queerness of a woman in fighting armour, but for her part, Aravis was well on her way to thinking her the most wonderful woman she had ever seen.


End file.
